


(never been) so much at stake

by Anonymous



Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Banter, Coffee Shops, Developing Relationship, Enemy Lovers, Flirting, Identity Porn, Kissing, M/M, Pining, Protectiveness, Vampire Hunters, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-14 10:01:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29044275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Night shifts atDark Roastget a little lonely sometimes. But something about the blue-eyed, brusque new regular makes Nick's skin prickle - and he can't tell if it's the good kind of prickle or the bad kind.
Relationships: Vampire Moonlighting As A Barista/Exhausted Vampire Hunter In Search Of Caffeine, Vampire/Vampire Hunter
Comments: 1
Kudos: 5
Collections: Five Figure Fanwork Exchange 2020





	(never been) so much at stake

**Author's Note:**

  * For [beelzebubble_tea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/beelzebubble_tea/gifts).



It's a slow night at _Dark Roast_.

They normally get their fair share of customers late in the evenings and during the small hours of the morning. Doctors from the hospital across the street looking for a caffeine fix to get through a triple shift, clubbers hoping to ward off a hangover, early commuters waiting in line with half-lidded eyes and bad attitudes. All kinds of night owls feeding their insomnia with Americanos, lattes, and cold brews.

Tonight the miserable weather is keeping most of them away. Even some of the regulars aren't showing their faces, probably not eager to be out in the biting wind and pouring rain for even a few steps longer than they have to. Nick doesn't blame them. He doesn't really feel the cold anymore these days, but when he opened his front door earlier tonight, even he had been a little tempted to call in sick and let Darnelle find someone else to cover the graveyard shift. But Darnelle's pointed disapproval in the face of his obvious lie would have been infinitely more scary to face than the whims of weather.

So here he is, working the late shift on his own, bored out of his mind because no one's been in or out of the door in twenty minutes now. He thought about making himself another coffee, but he's already had four Venti Caramel Macchiatos, and at some point even his supernatural metabolism is going to protest his caffeine intake.

He pulls out a chair and practices his latte art instead. He's got the basic hearts and rosette patterns down, but he doesn't usually have the patience to do the fancier stuff.

No time like the present, he figures. He goes for a cute little bear face first, pouring the milk with steady hands. 

He frowns at the result. It's alright, he figures. If you don't mention it's supposed to be a bear. And if you like shapeless monster blobs with mismatched eyes.

Someone coughs and Nick startles, his hand jerking involuntarily and smudging the face. 

He slides off his chair and glances up. "Sorry, I didn't hear you come in."

The ability to drop into hyperfocus is helpful when there's too much sensory input. Not so much when he's in the middle of a shift, even if it's a slow one.

The man in front of the counter just shrugs his broad shoulders. He's wearing a green army jacket, the fabric drenched with rainwater and the hood pulled up far enough that it covers his face, tiny drops collecting at the edge. 

"You got a coffee?" he asks.

Nick gives him a look. "Yeah," he says, stretching the word. "It's kind of our thing." He points at the large board with the menu on the wall behind him. 

The guy pulls back his hood, sending a spray of water around him. He rubs the wetness out of his hair and scrutinizes Nick with sharp blue eyes, the corners of his lips giving a little twitch that most likely means he's taking no offense at being informed that yes, this coffee shop does in fact serve coffee. 

"I meant real coffee, not the kind of over-prized hipster milkshake I can get at Starbucks."

Despite himself, Nick is a little charmed. To be fair, it probably has less to do with the guy's attitude and more with the fact that, even rain-soaked and dripping on the floor like a wet dog, he looks like a fucking Hugo Boss model, tall and muscular, with cheekbones to cut hearts open. Then again, Nick always liked people who were a little sharp-edged.

"So I guess that's a no to a double-shot Cherry Chocolate Latte with cinnamon sprinkles?" 

His quip earns him a flat look – a bit of a glare, really, hard enough that Nick figures he should maybe turn down the teasing unless he wants the guy to flip him off and storm out or break his wrist trying to punch Nick or something. But then he says, "Sure. Just skip the syrup and the milk and the sprinkles."

The deadpan delivery startles a laugh out of Nick. He grins and shakes his head. "If you insist on missing all the good stuff, I can make you a pot of regular drip coffee from our signature blend. You want a muffin with it?"

"Just the coffee. And make it to go."

Nick raises an eyebrow as he sets down the mug and grabs a styrofoam cup instead. He wouldn't have thought anyone was in much of a hurry to be back out there in this weather. Either the guy really doesn't like coffee shops, or he's got somewhere to be. 

With the pen poised to label the cup, Nick looks up. "What's your name?" 

"So you won't mix my order with anyone else's?" The guy makes a show of looking around the empty place, warm neon lights illuminating the deserted tables. "Yeah, I think you'll manage fine without."

Dick. 

Well, it was worth a try, Nick figures. Besides, it _is_ store policy. Unfortunately, it's also store policy not to insist on it if the customer doesn't offer a name at the initial request, and as much as Nick enjoyed the slightly pointed back and forth, he doubts there's much use in pushing it. So he shrugs and draws a little smiley face on the cup instead before capping the pen.

He pours the coffee and puts a lid on it, remembering to slip on a sleeve because experience has taught him that regular people have stupid sensitive fingers and don't like getting them burned. "There you go. Enjoy."

Something about the scoff Nick receives in response makes him think that the guy probably sees coffee more as staple food and less like something to be _enjoyed_.

The guy fishes a five out of his jacket, surprisingly dry. "Keep the change," he says, and before Nick can politely thank him or wish him a good night, he's turned and briskly walked off, the door making a soft thud when it falls shut after him.

Well. That was something.

Nick's had weirder customers. The business lady with the bleeding head wound who'd walked out of the waiting room of the E.R. because she refused to drink bad hospital coffee while waiting for the doctors to treat her. The homeless guy who always has Nick fill up his thermos flask with hot tea and pays in hilariously bad jokes. The fighting couple who got into it so badly that she threw her coffee at her husband. The sweet-faced emo dude who came straight from a club, drugged up to his eyeballs, and told Nick with starry-eyed adoration how much he loved Nick's wings. ( _Wings_? Seriously?)

But something about tonight's encounter makes Nick's skin prickle, and he can't tell if it was the good kind of prickle or the bad kind.

It doesn't matter. It's probably the last he's seen of the guy. He didn't exactly seem like the kind of customer who'd become a regular. Which was a pity, because those eyes had been pretty. Really fucking pretty. Then again, he _was_ a bit of a jerk.

Nick pulls out a fresh mug, puts the steamer on and settles down. He pours a grumpy face with the froth, grinning at himself as he draws the downward curve of the mouth.

#

By the time Nick's done for the night and Dale arrives to take the morning shift, it has finally stopped raining and the storm has eased. The sky's a strange, almost unreal purple color, the clouds clearing up and the first glimmer of dawn already breaking through.

"Cutting it a little close," his roommate calls out to Nick when he hurries through the front door.

He peeks into the kitchen where Valentina's sitting. She doesn't look up, stirring her cereal while scrolling through something on her phone with tired eyes. The black-out curtains are drawn, the glaring overhead lights bathing the room in unpleasant white hues and reflecting off the silver surfaces. It reminds Nick a little of the morgue, and while he might not share the discomfort humans feel about it, not even he would claim that it's a cozy place. Sometimes he wishes his apartment was a little more like _Dark Roast_ : snug and comfortable and _alive_.

"You need to ask Darnelle to cut your shift short", Valentina cautions him. "Make sure you have enough time to get home without giving yourself a sunburn."

She isn't wrong. It's always an awkward discussion, every year when the nights get shorter and the sun rises earlier. 

Nick's glad that Valentina keeps pestering him about it, just like he's glad that she remembers to shut the curtains even when he left them open the night before, remembers to make sure there's always an escape route to the garage, if worse comes to worst. He'd been skeptical about getting a roommate at first, especially about living with a human, but Valentina is the best thing that happened to him since he moved here. If he were straight, he'd be head over heels in love with her.

"I know. I'll ask her tonight." 

He sets down a Salted Caramel Macchiato on the kitchen table in front of Valentina. It's probably cold now, but he figures it's the thought that counts.

"Thanks. Have you eaten?" She looks up at him and wiggles her eyebrows. It's supposed to be an offer, probably, but it just makes her look so ridiculous he can't help but grin.

Reaching out to pull her sweatshirt to the side, he bends down towards her exposed neck. If he looks close enough, he can see the faint dual round scars where he fed from her before, half-starved and delirious with hunger. The least he can do is not to abuse her generosity and willingness to take care of him, and limit using her as an easy meal to when he absolutely has to. Tonight's not one of those times. 

He leans in and lets his nose playfully brush her shoulder, laughing when the coldness of his skin against hers makes her jump before pulling back. "Nah. Stopped by the hospital and had a couple bags of O negative."

Valentina's face turns to disgust. "Yummy."

He's tempted to remind her that she regularly eats microwave pizza leftovers straight from the fridge. Neither of them can in good conscience call themselves a gourmet – but unlike him, Valentina at least theoretically has the option to consume better quality food without taking a bite out of living human beings. 

"Hey, don't knock it until you've tried it," he quips, not waiting for her to respond to the familiar teasing-slash-half-serious-offer as he heads downstairs to take a shower and get some sleep.

#

Contrary to Nick's expectations, the gruff customer is back the next night.

He shows up just as Nick is serving one of the regulars from the hospital, sliding through the entrance door as silently and stealthily as the previous day, his steps almost soundless on the wooden floorboards even to Nick's sensitive ears. Humans usually can't evade his heightened senses so well. For a moment, Nick gets suspicious. But even from across the counter, he can see the rhythmic pulse of blood beating under the guy's skin and his heartbeat drums steadily across the room. Definitely human. Just good at being covert and silent.

He's wearing the same clothes as last night, notably drier now that he wasn't caught in a downpour, his hair a lighter blond when not soaked in rain water. The improved weather seems to have done nothing to fix his mood, though, his face caught in a perpetual scowl as he waits for his turn.

Nick hands Dr. Carol her strawberry frappé and exchanges a few words of small talk and a quick smile with her before facing the new arrival. "Well, look who's back. I didn't think I'd see you again." 

"Don't tell me your coffee is so bad that no one ever comes back."

Nick snorts. He did leave the perfect opening for that comeback, didn't he? "We have our share of regulars. You just didn't seem like the type to appreciate coffee much."

The guy shrugs. "It does what it's supposed to. Keeps me awake and alert. Doesn't mean I have to love the taste or make it some kind of lifestyle." 

He pulls a face at the mention of _lifestyle_ , and Nick has an idea or two what he means: the kind of cutesy or stylish coffee aesthetic that big chain stores try to sell to their customers and that are a dime a dozen on Instagram accounts. He figures the "I've got coffee running through my veins" tank top he's got at home wouldn't be met with approval either. Then again, it's really only funny if you know that there's not much at all running though Nick's veins these days. He still remembers Valentina's excitement when she found the shirt and insisted on buying it for Nick because, "It's like they made it specifically for you!" before theorizing that maybe there's a whole bunch of vampire baristas out there. 

Nick wonders what it would take to convert someone with such a pragmatist attitude towards caffeine into a genuine coffee lover. He's always liked a challenge. It might be too soon to try, though. Perhaps if he's been around a few more times. Handing over a Caramel Macchiato to someone with an expressed dislike for fancy espresso drinks on their second visit would probably be the equivalent of letting the fangs drop on the second date. 

"Fair enough," he agrees easily. "Same order from yesterday, then? Filter coffee, no sugar, no... what was it? 'Over-prized hipster milkshake'?"

"You got it."

"What was your name again?" He raises an eyebrow, his tone blatantly cheerful, deliberately ignoring that he's well aware he wasn't given a name – just like he ignores the hard, flat glare he receives in response to his question. He puts on his most winsome smile. "Come on, you're a regular now. I have to know what to call you!"

"You _have_ to?" The guy huffs and surveys Nick. 

His eyes are cool and measuring, almost suspicious, like he's expecting him to have some kind of ulterior motive. Nick fleetingly entertains the possibility that he's the type to have good reasons not to want to share his name, someone who's running from his past and who has people looking for him, trying to track him down. He does look a little like someone with a habit of getting into trouble. But before Nick's overactive imagination gets around to making up an elaborate backstory – perhaps he's a spy, or someone on the run from the mob – his features smooth out and he lets out an exasperated sigh. "It's Alec."

Nick can feel his grin stretch so wide that the muscles in his cheeks protest. 

It's just a name, but it feels like some kind of victory.

#

"Three visits in three days? My cup runneth over!"

He swears he can spot Alec's mouth curl into something that might actually be a smile. "I wouldn't flatter myself. It's either this place or the McDonald's behind the hospital."

"Tough competition, then," Nick quips. "So... you're working at the hospital then?"

He's fishing. Truth is, he's pretty sure Alec's not a doctor or some kind of contractor. He doesn't look like the type to don a white coat and Nick would bet that his bedside manner is atrocious. And when he casually asked Dr. Carol earlier today, giving her a glowingly complimentary description of Alec's physical features, she said she was sure she'd never seen him before. He asked if she was sure and she'd laughed and told him with a wink, 'He sounds like someone I'd remember, sugar.' 

So, not a doctor. Probably a good thing. Doctors tend to notice the whole 'no heatbeat' deal a lot faster than the average person.

Alec eyes him warily. "No. I just got business in the area."

His evasiveness only stirs Nick's curiosity further. It's an unfamiliar feeling. People usually share things with him, often without being prompted. Perhaps it's his face, or a little-known vampire skill – or perhaps it's just because he's handing out late-night caffeine fixes to overworked, bone-tired and often lonely customers ready to jump on any kind of connection that's offered to them. 

Nick's not _old_ , not for his kind anyway, who measure time in centuries rather than years. But he's been around for long enough that he rarely gets intrigued by humans any more, and there's something curious and furtive about Alec that's making Nick want to poke at it until he's managed to figure him out. 

At least Nick hopes that this is what rouses his interest, and not just those piercing blue eyes and the handsome cut of Alec's face that's hard to look away from even when it's pulled into a permanent scowl. Nick's not usually that shallow. Fuck, he needs to get laid.

He raises his hands in mock surrender. "Sorry, man, I didn't mean to snoop."

"Of course you didn't," Alec says, in a wry, deadpan tone that makes it clear that he knows Nick's lying. He doesn't sound particularly annoyed, and Nick almost thinks he's being coy, that all the secrecy is a ruse. 

But then he adds, "It's not really that interesting." 

His voice is calm, dismissive almost, but Nick can hear the way his pulse picks up speed, blood rushing through his veins in the tell-tale sound of a lie, inaudible to human ears.

Nick cocks his head, but beyond the rising frequency of his heartbeat, Alec doesn't give away a thing. 

Nick shakes his head and pours Alec's coffee – black, strong, their boldest and most expensive roast – into a disposable cup. "Yeah, sure. You strike me as a really boring kind of guy." 

"That's right." 

Alec's grin is shark-like and sharp as a razor-blade. Somehow it makes him look more dangerous and unapproachable than his glower does. It should be a clear sign to back off, but Nick's never been good at heeding warnings. Story of his life. And his death, really.

Reaching across the counter, Alec takes the cup out of Nick's hands before Nick has a chance to write the name on the styrofoam. Alec's fingers are callused where they brush against Nick's hand, and their touch feels paradoxically cool to Nick, whose skin has been artificially heated up by the hot coffee he's been handling.

Alec takes a sip and frowns, surprise crossing his features. "That's... not bad." 

It's one of the most ambiguous compliments Nick's ever received for his coffee, but he can barely contain the urge to pump his fist in triumph. 

He squares his shoulders and fakes a nonchalant shrug. "Told you."

Alec snorts. For a moment, he looks like he's about to say something else, but then he just pockets his wallet and turns to go. Nick watches him leave, momentarily distracted by the way the faded old denim of his jeans clings to his thighs. 

"See you tomorrow?" Nick calls across the floor when Alec's almost out of the door. 

Turning back to look over his shoulder, Alec pauses. "Maybe. I might give the McDonald's a try." 

His voice is devoid of inflection and his face remains impassive, but Nick's almost certain he's being teased. 

Alec's a mess of contradictions, and Nick can't wait to figure him out. And he will, sooner or later. 

He's got all the time in the world, after all.

#

There's no sight of Alec the following night, or the one after.

Every time Nick hears someone come in, his head snaps up, and he hopes he'll be faced with a familiar blond head, frosty blue eyes pinning him down from a distance. But even when he turns towards the door, he already knows that it's not going to be Alec, because he's so quiet that Nick wouldn't hear him enter in the first place.

He channels his frustration into his efforts to teach himself latte art, but the more impatient he becomes, the less steady his hands are. The foam spills out of the pitcher, messing up the pattern.

With a sigh, he uses a coffee stirrer to messily draw a sad face into the foam.

#

Nick's pretty much given up hope that Alec will ever show his face again when the door opens at 3:14 a.m. on Wednesday and in he comes.

Something's different. The stealth is lacking from Alec's entrance this time; he all but stumbles inside, footfalls heavy on the floorboards. 

But the first thing Nick notices – notices, in fact, before he even recognizes Alec – is the scent of fresh blood filling up the room. It's almost overwhelming in its intensity, clogging up every single one of Nick's senses. Rich and sweet. Metallic. It hits him like a glass of whiskey held right under an addict's nose: mouth-watering, _excruciating_ temptation. It hits him right between the eyes, makes him light-headed, his most feral impulses pushing against his self-control like a caged animal throwing itself against the bars. Keeping his fangs from dropping becomes a struggle.

He balls his hands into fists, so tight that they'd crush the solid metal of the drawer handles if he held onto them, trying to breathe through his nose. 

In. Out. In. Out. No getting bitey. In. Out. 

There.

Once the initial haze of bloodlust has passed and he manages to focus on something other than the tantalizing, full-bodied aroma that hangs in the air like a thunder-cloud, he takes a closer look at Alec. He looks like hell. Pale and hollow-cheeked, bold circles the color of ripe bruises under his eyes. It's almost as if he hasn't slept since the last time Nick saw him. Even the blue of his eyes seems duller tonight.

"Damn, I told you not to drink the McDonald's coffee," Nick quips.

The joke, half-hearted as it is, has the desired effect. The ghost of a smile flashes across Alec's face. It seems more genuine than before, almost like he's too exhausted to keep his walls up.

"Guess I should have listened to you," he says, voice a little hoarse and lacking its usual edge. 

He winces as he steps towards the counter, slipping his left hand inside his jacket to rub at his shoulder. The pained look on his face doesn't ease, and he mutters a string of colorful curses. When he pulls his hand out again, his palm is coated red. 

The smell is distracting, a head-on assault on Nick's instincts that's hard to ignore, but it isn't clouding his mind so much that he isn't aware that this amount of blood is a bad sign.

"You should be at the hospital."

Alec's shrug is lopsided, favoring his – presumably, _hopefully_ uninjured – left shoulder. "Not really a fan of hospitals. It looks worse than it is."

It's a lie. Not the first part; that's probably true, but the claim that it's not so bad? Yeah, not true. Nick wouldn't even have to listen to Alec's heartbeat to hear it. He doesn't need supernatural senses to recognize the pain hiding in the tension with which Alec holds himself, in the furrow of his brow and the way each movement makes him barely suppress another wince. 

But Nick, more than anyone, understands that not everyone is eager to get themselves fussed over and prodded by doctors. He likes hospitals for the easy food supply they offer him, but he has little interest in winding up there as a patient. Who's he to judge if Alec feels the same, whatever his reasons may be? Doesn't mean he's comfortable letting an injured customer walk out of here, slowly bleeding out. Especially when it's someone he has more than a strictly professional interest in.

"Okay, how about this: no hospitals, but I get the first-aid box from the office out back and fix you up?"

Reluctant agreement is all he gets, but it's probably the best he can hope for. Alec strikes him as the kind of person who doesn't accept help easily and prefers to deal with his problems on his own. 

But he came here tonight, and that has to count for something. Doesn't it?

Alec opens his jacket and pulls his collar aside just far enough to provide minimal access to the wound. Ideally, he'd take it off. The shirt, too – and not just because Nick would pay all of tonight's earnings including his tip money to see that muscular body in any significant state of undress. But that's not what this is about. He wants to help, and Alec's making it harder than it has to be.

Still, he doesn't dare push. He has an inkling that Alec's already letting him closer than he's in the habit of letting most people.

He steels himself for the fresh onslaught on his senses when he cleans the wound. It looks bad – a deep, ugly flesh wound in the juncture of Alec's neck, just a little to the side of his carotid. In a way, the horridness of it is a good thing, because it helps stifle his craving. It's hardly an appetizing sight, no matter how nice it smells.

"Sorry, this is going to hurt," Nick quietly says as he starts dabbing iodine around the spot with careful fingers.

Alec barely flinches. "I've had worse." 

Nick believes him. The stoicism and casualness with which Alec responds to the injury speaks of experience. Nick holds his tongue and doesn't let himself ask what happened. He wouldn't get a real answer anyway, and he doesn't want to make Alec think he has to lie to him.

He cleans and dresses the wound as gently as he can. When Alec complains that his fingers are cold, Nick chuckles. "I'm nervous, okay? This is a little outside my usual area of expertise."

It's not a lie, even though it has little to do with his body temperature. He's done plenty of jobs in the past. He's been an artist and an accountant, a baker and a bouncer in a speakeasy. Medical professions, on the other hand, aren't a good fit for vampires. It's all the blood. Impossible to get used to, no matter how often you're exposed to it.

Nick applies the last patch of bandage, pressing his hand firmly to the exposed part of Alec's shoulder to fix it. "There, all done. You should probably get stitches. And, you know, let someone look at it who doesn't brew coffee for a living."

"Maybe," Alec says, and Nick's pretty sure that's a 'no'.

Nick stands up. He has blood all over his fingers. Ignoring the urge to lick them clean – even if Alec didn't see it, it would be weird – he steps around to the sink to wash it off while Alec's righting his clothes again, the bandage disappearing beneath the collar of his jacket.

"Thank you."

Nick dries his hands. "You're welcome. I'd say 'anytime', but I'd rather you didn't get yourself hurt again."

The half-shrug Alec gives him in response tells him that's a futile hope. Alec stands, stretching gingerly. His jacket slips up past his waistband, and something falls down and clatters onto the ground.

"You dropped someth—" The words die on Nick's tongue when he looks down.

At Alec's feet on the floor lies a wooden stake. A good 15 inches long, the tip sharpened to a point, and its length coated with old, foul-smelling blood.

The world around Nick freezes as he takes in the sight, unable to ward off the horrors it evokes, too many fights for his life and close calls in his past that have instilled a fear in him like nothing in his human life ever did.

He numbly watches Alec pick up the stake, a pained expression passing over Alec's face when he twists his arm to slip the weapon into the back of his waistband, and it's only then that Nick realizes – really _understands_ – what this means. The stake isn't just something Alec found, some kind of prop whose significance he eludes him.

The stake belongs to Alec's. He's— 

_Fuck._

"Hey, look—" Nick's head snaps up towards Alec, who's looking at him with a frown. "Are you okay?"

"Sure," Nick says automatically, but it sounds unconvincing even to himself, and when he tries to force his mouth to form a smile, it probably looks like a distorted grimace. He unclenches his fists and takes a deliberate breath. "You should take it easy for a while. Let that wound heal."

 _Not walk around at night and murder unsuspecting vampires,_ he doesn't add.

The door opens and three drunk women stumble in. "We need coffee!" one of them yells at the top of her lungs. One of her friends hushes her, and all three break into giggles.

It costs enormous effort to turn away from Alec and face the new customers. Even more effort to smile at them and ask for their order.

When Nick peers up again, Alec is gone.

#

"Do you want us to move?" is the first thing Valentina asks when Nick comes home and tells her about what happened that night.

He stares at her. "What?"

"A fucking hunter is a regular at your coffee shop, Nick. Doesn't seem like a good idea to stick around. How long do you think it'll be until he figures out what you are? If he hasn't already. Maybe you're even the reason he's there."

Nick shakes his head. That makes no sense. 

If it had been him Alec was hunting, he'd have had ample opportunity to make a move. They were alone almost every time Alec had come in. Hell, if he'd wanted to make sure there were no witnesses, all he'd have had to do was wait until the end of Nick's shift and drag him into a back alley on his way home. Nick wouldn't even have fought him because he'd have expected a different kind of _staking_ than what would have followed.

"He doesn't know." Nick's certain of it. Alec wouldn't have drawn it out like that if he did. In the few days that Nick's got to know Alec, he's already figured out that Alec isn't the type who plays around like that. 

"Yet," Valentina adds with the undercurrent of a gloomy warning. "It's only a matter of time, and you know it."

Her concern makes him feel a fresh rush of affection towards her. He's been around for long enough, and had too many people who he thought were his friends turn their backs at the first sign of supernatural trouble, to know not to take Valentina's protectiveness for granted. He can't put into words how much he appreciates her immediate assumption that they'd be moving away together instead of just suggesting he'd pack up and start over on his own. Just the fact that she'd be willing to do that for him means the world, even if he's not ready to uproot his life like that and wouldn't ask her to do it either.

He smiles and slides his hand over hers. Beneath her apparent composure and her no-nonsense attitude, she's more rattled than she's letting on. He can feel her shaking under his palm. "Val, I love you, but you're overreacting. We're not going to move to another city just because I ran into a hunter at work. That's crazy."

There's a huge network of hunters all across the country. Chances are that he crosses paths with a hunter every week, at least. It's just statistics. Most of the time, neither of them will be the wiser. If the stake hadn't slipped out tonight, he wouldn't have known about Alec, either. 

Nothing has changed, other than what's inside his head. He's in exactly as much danger as he was in yesterday, or the day before.

Valentina watches him with an unhappy expression, her mouth a flat line and a deep crease between her brows. He's tempted to tell her she'll be giving herself early wrinkles, but he doesn't think she'll appreciate the quip right now. 

"I think you should at least leave _Dark Roast_ ," she suggests, and he snorts.

"Yeah, that's not going to look suspicious at all if he comes in tomorrow and when he asks where I am, Dale tells him, 'I dunno, man, Nick just quit out of the blue. Wouldn't even tell me what happened.'" He imitates Dale's sonorous, melodious tone, which sounds ridiculously fake as always. It usually never fails to make Valentina laugh, but tonight, it doesn't lighten the mood.

"Why would he ask after you in the first place unless he's already targeting you?" Her eyes narrow as she takes in Nick's reaction, the way he averts his eyes and swallows. "Oh fucking hell, Nick, tell me you haven't been hitting on a hunter? What, you're into him? Do you have a death wish, or is he that hot?"

"I didn't know he was a hunter until tonight," Nick protests.

"So he's hot, then." Her frown deepens and she gives him a hard look. "Wait, is this why you want to stay? Because you still think that— what?— you might have a shot with him or something? Make him see the error of his ways by batting your pretty brown doe eyes at him?"

He runs his hand through his hair, fingers tangling at the curls and pulling at them until his scalp aches. 

"No. No, that would be stupid," he says, due denial, listless but firm. Trying to convince himself as much as her. He's not particularly successful on either account. 

"Yes indeed, that would be _lethally_ stupid."

She has a point, and Nick knows it. He really needs to be careful. He doesn't want to run, but if he sticks around, he has to watch out so he won't give himself away. Keep his distance, as much as possible without raising suspicion.

"Look, I'll see how it goes tomorrow. Maybe he won't even be back. I'm pretty sure he was only here for a job. And judging from the state of his neck and the blood on that stake, I guess that job's done now. I might never even see him again."

"Try saying that again and making it sound like the _good thing_ it would be if it were true."

Nick chokes out a laugh. And if it comes out sounding a little sad and a little wet and not like a laugh at all, Valentina's kind enough not to mention it.

#

There's a fresh bandage on Alec's neck the next time he comes in.

It's four nights after Nick mopped up Alec's blood from the floor and tried to forget the clunking sound of wood against wood when the stake fell down. That's three days Nick's spent telling himself that he should be feeling relieved, that Alec's absence meant he'd moved on, that if he stayed away, that was the best possible outcome.

And then Alec walks through the door with quiet steps, clean and fresh-faced, not a trace of blood clinging to him. Only the tension around his eyes and the way his gaze seeks out Nick the minute he sets foot in the shop give an indication that anything has happened at all.

But something _has_ happened. 

Nick ruthlessly stifles the giddy happiness at the sight of Alec, and he ignores the way his survival instincts bristle when he turns his back on someone whose vocation it is to find and kill creatures like Nick.

"Coffee?" He keeps his tone neutral, careful not to let it tip towards either the hostility or the lingering familiarity he's torn between. 

He's had four days to examine his feelings. The anger and the fear and the frustrated longing and the overwhelming sense of betrayal. It's not fair, probably. Alec never pretended to be anything he wasn't. He has no clue that he's been flirting with a vampire for a week. And Nick's done most of the flirting anyway. He can't claim that Alec misled him, and certainly not intentionally.

Doesn't mean he can't be mad that the first guy in an embarrassingly long time he's found interesting enough to pursue for more than a quick fuck and a bite turned out to be someone who believes that Nick's entire existence is against nature.

Alec still hasn't answered, so Nick turns back around to face him and finds himself pinned down by that keen, unreadable gaze. 

He freezes. For a moment, it feels like the game is up. Like Alec _knows_. Rooted to the spot, he wonders whether he has it in him to kill Alec if Alec attacks. Bad idea to leave a hunter alive once he's figured you out. They'll only track you down again, no matter how far you run. Every vampire knows that.

Nick is no saint. Killing is a necessity sometimes. If you go far enough back into his past, you'll find plenty of bodies he's left behind. But he's never intentionally ended the life of someone he knew and cared for. He remembers the warmth of Alec's skin under his hands, the way he bared his neck to Nick when he dressed his wound, and he knows it's a lost cause. 

Alec clears his throat, the noise cutting through Nick's gloomy thoughts. He doesn't look like he's ready to fight. If anything, he looks awkward. Like an ill-fitting coat, the uncertainty doesn't suit him. 

"Look, Nick—"

Nick frowns. The suspicion returns, poking him like needles. "I didn't tell you my name." 

Alec raises an eyebrow and lets his gaze trail down to Nick's chest. Despite himself, Nick feels the rush of borrowed blood in his cheeks. Turns out that knowing Alec's a goddamn hunter doesn't do a thing to help with the fact that Nick's hot for him. Of course it fucking doesn't. What was it Valentina said? 'Lethally stupid'? Yeah. That's him.

"I can read," Alec says, and Nick remembers the name badge he's wearing. Right. He needs to get a grip. "I know what it must have looked like on Wednesday with all the blood, the wound, and the bloody stick. But whatever you're thinking, that's not what's going on."

Nick snorts. The 'bloody stick'. Right. He's pretty sure that _what he's thinking_ is exactly what's going on, but of course he can't say that without giving away who – _what_ – he is. Hard to imagine what a human would make of the encounter, but they probably wouldn't be thrilled either to see someone carrying a pointy piece of wood that has someone's blood all over it.

"Maybe it doesn't look like it, but I'm one of the good guys," Alec adds, and Nick's hackles rise.

"Yeah, right."

Because that's the typical hunter line, isn't it? 'We're the good guys. All we do is protect humans by killing those evil bloodsuckers who aren't even supposed to be alive, so no harm done in putting them down like rabid animals.' Like it's that simple. He wonders if they really believe that it's all black and white like that. Bad vampires, good humans, no shades of grey to upset the moral scales. 

He's half a mind to ask Alec, secret identity be damned.

He bites his tongue, literally, to stop himself from letting the question spill out. But whatever Alec sees on his face, it must be rebuff enough to make him realize that his attempts at defending himself are hurting more than they're helping.

Shoulders slumping a fraction, just enough to convey his frustration, Alec rubs his hand across his hair and looks aside. "You want me to stay away, I get it. Just say the word, and you won't see me again."

The offer sounds serious. And maybe Nick's reading too much into it, but he thinks Alec sounds disappointed. Like he really doesn't want to stay away. 

It doesn't matter. 

Nick should say yes, anyway. Even if it won't protect him from possibly facing Alec again in a dead-end alley with a stake in his hand in the future, having him stay away from _Dark Roast_ means that Nick will have fewer chances to give himself away. And it's not like anything good could ever come out of it if Alec keeps coming here.

Nick knows that he needs to say yes. It's the only smart thing to do. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath.

"No, it's fine."

Smart choices are overrated.

The tension eases out of Alec's shoulders and a small, genuine smile tugs at the corners of his mouth. It's a nice smile, warm as the sunlight Nick hasn't seen in decades but still remembers fondly, like a memory from a half-forgotten dream. 

It might almost be worth dying for.

#

Alec keeps coming around, regular as clockwork, but the familiar banter doesn't flow as easily as it used to.

Things aren't strained, exactly, but Nick's lighthearted comments feel a little forced. Alec, too, seems uncharacteristically wrong-footed, like he's worried that the sharpness of his humor might land differently now that Nick's seen more than he was meant to see.

It feels like they're walking on eggshells around each other. Or rather, Alec's the one walking on eggshells. Nick... Nick's tiptoeing through fucking holy water. 

He misses the volleys of pointed, quick-witted teasing between them. The effortless confidence and aloofness Alec carried with him. He misses how the excitement in the pit of his stomach felt when it wasn't laced with trepidation.

And he's at a loss as to how to get any of that back – but fuck, he wants to, no matter how foolish and unwise it is.

He gives Alec a speculative look. "You're early. Does that mean it's a slow night or so busy that you need your coffee fix sooner than usual?"

As always, he tries not to let his mind wander to what Alec might have been up to before he came here. A few days ago, once they'd settled into their new, tentative routine, he'd asked how long Alec was in the city for, but Alec had only given an evasive answer that made a fresh sense of apprehensiveness settle in Nick's gut.

Alec shrugs. "Slow night. Just stepping by before turning in."

"Won't it keep you awake?" 

His curiosity earns him a sliver of teeth as Alec smiles. "Perks of pulling lots of all-nighters. Once I lie down, I'm out like a light. Doesn't matter if I had an entire can of coffee right before."

Damn. Not even Nick can make himself fall asleep when he's had too much coffee before sunrise. Or too much blood from a caffeinated person. He made that mistake a few times when he had a boyfriend who was working on his PhD, practically living off crappy instant coffee and sugar. Never again. 

"Are you really certain that you're human?" Nick quips thoughtlessly, and immediately wants to haul the words back the minute they've crossed his lips.

But Alec's lips just curl into a smile, wry like it's an in-joke Nick wouldn't get. "Quite certain, actually."

Unable to think of a good comeback that wouldn't let on that he does, in fact, get the joke a little better than he's supposed to, Nick moves to grab a cup for Alec. At the last second, he switches course and takes a mug instead. Alec did say it wasn't a busy night. And he came here anyway, despite clearly not in need of caffeine. 

Almost as if he was only here to see Nick. 

It's a foolish thought, not least because even if it _were_ true, most of the reasons why Alec could possibly be here to see him weren't good ones. But Nick's decided to be an optimist about Alec, so he steams up the milk and makes him a Macchiato, double-shot with their best decaf blend that's almost indistinguishable from regular.

He pours a flower from the foam, a little proud when it comes out only a little wobbly, and pushes the mug across the counter towards Alec, who gives it a dubious look. 

"Pretty sure that's not my order." 

"You never made an order." At Alec's unimpressed glare, Nick huffs and shakes his head. "It's on the house, okay? And if you hate it, I promise I'll make you a drip coffee as pitch black as your soul that will burn off your taste buds and I will never try to convert you to the light side again. Scout's honor."

Blue eyes measure him up, and Nick can feel the back of his neck growing hot under the appraisal. "You don't look like you ever were a scout."

Nick shrugs. He wasn't, not really. Not today's version of scouts anyway. Alec, now Alec looks exactly like the kind of guy who used to go camping in the woods, acquiring those tracking and hunting skills he's putting to dubious use these days. Nick's abruptly assaulted by the image of a teenage Alec sitting at the campfire with his friends, only instead of roasting marshmallows, they're carving stakes. 

He pushes the thought away.

"I keep my promises," he says, his somber tone at odds with the mood of their previous exchange.

If Alec notices, he doesn't let on. He heaves a sigh. "You don't give up easily, do you?" 

Something about the way he says it makes Nick think that he isn't just talking about the coffee. He doesn't wait for an answer, taking the mug and turning towards the seated area before looking back at Nick. "Will you at least sit with me while I endure this creamy atrocity? It's the least you can do."

Nick pretends to think it over, like that hadn't been his intention the moment he went for the porcelain mug instead of the to-go cup. "Well, I guess I'll have to."

#

"So what's your deal?" Alec asks him one night.

It's become a regular thing, the two of them sitting down for a coffee together and talking. 

Not every night. Sometimes Alec comes in with quick, hurried steps, looking worn out and frustrated, occasionally wearing fresh scrapes and cuts on his face and his hands, and Nick knows that it's one of those nights when all Alec wants is something to keep him awake and sharp. Then Nick pours him a coffee and watches him smile a tight smile before disappearing into the night again, leaving Nick to ask himself what the fuck he's doing.

And then there are days like today, when Alec seems relaxed and happy and his smile lights the room the moment he steps through the door. He puts up a token protest as Nick makes him whatever fancy espresso drink he's inclined to on any given day before grabbing a Dark Raspberry Latte or a Caramel Macchiato for himself, and then they're drifting off to one of the tables together.

They mostly chat about innocuous things. Favorite bands. The latest movie blockbuster. Whether a drink that's sixty percent milk should be allowed to be called 'coffee'. By silent mutual agreement, they don't discuss what Alec does. So far Alec has always shown Nick the same courtesy. Until tonight.

"My _deal_?" Nick huffs, amused.

"You're here every night. Don't you ever switch to daytime shifts?" There's nothing but mild curiosity in Alec's tone.

It's a dangerous line of conversation, not that he's aware of it. Nick takes a sip of his latte to give himself a moment to think about how to answer him as honestly as he can without making Alec ask more questions about his sleep patterns.

"Night shifts pay better," he jokes. 

Alec rolls his eyes, and maybe he'd let it go or maybe he'd press further. Either way, Nick wants to give him something real, even if it won't be quite the whole truth, so he continues, more seriously.

"I like them more, anyway. I don't know if you've ever been in during the day, but the shop's cramped. On a bad day, the line lasts all the way through the door. And everyone's always in a hurry. I like to take my time with people. Say hello, have a little chat. I can't do that if I'm working days or someone at the back of the line will fly into a rage and ask for the manager because he already had to wait for his coffee for ten whole minutes and the extra ten seconds I took to say hello to someone ahead of him ruined his day."

"Some people would argue that not having to engage clients in conversation is a perk, not a downside." 

The face Alec pulls makes it obvious that he's one of those people. Considering how hard Nick had to fight to even get him to spill his name, he's not surprised. It's still a little hard to believe that they got from prickly bickering to sitting together like this.

Perhaps familiarity has bred carelessness, and that's why Nick unthinkingly says, "That's kind of misanthropic, isn't it? Why go out and fight to protect people when you don't even like them?"

Alec's forehead creases into a frown. "I never said I was protecting people." 

He sounds more confused than suspicious, but dammit, Nick needs to be more cautious. He curses himself for the slip, feigning a nonchalant shrug. "Not in so many words maybe. But the whole gig you've got going on there and the 'I'm a good guy' speech you gave me were very 'shadowy vigilante fighting for justice'." He lets his voice drop into a deep hush to give the image some weight, startling a laugh out of Alec. 

"You make it sound like I'm Batman." He points his finger at Nick like he's about to make a point. "And, for the record, Batman doesn't like people much either."

Crisis averted, for the time being at least. 

Nick leans back in his seat. "I was always more of an X-Men guy."

Alec snorts. "Why am I not surprised that you're a comic nerd?"

"Hey!" Nick protests, but well. It's true enough. He even used to work in a comic shop for a couple of years, back in the 80s. "Is there anything you actually like? Because I know it's not people or coffee – or comics, apparently, you heathen."

Alec's teeth flash, his grin wide and devastatingly handsome, come and gone so quickly that Nick wishes had could snap a picture to keep it around. It was more teasing than real question, and Nick doesn't expect an answer. Alec watches him over the rim of his mug, his eyes too intent and the silence between them stretching so taut that Nick's instinctively tempted to fill it with chatter.

Before he can, Alec speaks again. "I like you, for some reason. Enough to drink the flavored milk you call coffee."

His tone is wry, almost self-depreciating, like he's admitting more than he knows he should. Like he likes Nick despite himself, despite his best efforts not to.

If Nick's heart were beating, it would be going so fast that it would jump from his chest. 

He ducks his head and smiles. "Well, I guess there's hope for you yet."

#

On one of the rare nights when Alec hasn't stopped by _Dark Roast_ , Nick's just out of the door when someone catches his arm from behind.

He spins around, instincts on alert, and for a split second before he recognizes Alec's face, his body is on the verge of going into fight mode. He can feel his eyes starting to shift and his gums aching in the way they always do right before the fangs elongate. He suppresses the reaction, but barely.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." 

It's still dark out, only the neon letters of the 'Dark Roast' sign glowing a faint orange above them and the next street lamp far enough away that their flare doesn't hit them. Nick hopes that, even if Alec saw the ripple on Nick's features, he'll attribute it to a trick of light and not the tell-tale giveaway that it is.

"It's alright," he says quietly, the lingering tension making his skin feel too tight for him. He's acutely aware that he's cut it late again. He should have been off half an hour ago already, but he'd stuck around talking to Dale for too long and forgot the time, and now the sun's already creeping towards the horizon. He needs to get home, and soon. "I just didn't expect anyone." 

"Are you done for the night? How do you feel about breakfast?"

Breakfast is Nick's favorite meal. Both the kind of breakfast that Alec's talking about – bacon and orange juice and croissants spread with half-inch-thick Nutella, as well as Nick's preferred kind: slow morning sex and sinking his teeth into a willing partner's neck, rich warm blood on his tongue and lazy hands on his skin.

But as much as he wants to take Alec up on his offer...

"I can't."

Even in the gloomy light, the disappointment is plain to see on Alec's face, if only for a moment before he schools his features back into impassiveness. "Okay."

"I'd love to, but I can't," Nick adds, regretfully, fumbling for an explanation that takes the sting out of the rejection. "I've got an appointment, and I'm already late for it. I should be home already."

He can feel Alec's eyes on him, searching his face. Measuring whether he's telling the truth or just trying to get rid of him, probably. It's true enough, Nick figures. He didn't lie about wishing he could join Alec for breakfast, or about being in a rush. The rest is just details. Details, and a secret so big it would pull the rug out from under them.

"I'm sorry," he says, and he doesn't just mean breakfast.

Unaware of Nick's inner turmoil, Alec motions towards the corner where a sleek black Yamaha is parked against the curb. "I'm here with my bike. If you're in a hurry, I can give you a lift home."

Shit. 

It would be incredibly unwise to agree, but Nick has no good reason to say no. And with the prospect of taking the subway and potentially getting stuck there for the night if a train is cancelled and he doesn't get back in time before the sun comes up, a quick ride across the quiet pre-rush hour city clinging to Alec's muscular back seems like an undeniably attractive option.

Fuck it. If worse comes to worst, Alec knowing where Nick lives won't be the thing that dooms him. "Thanks, man. You're a life-saver." 

He takes the spare helmet Alec offers him, rattles off his address and then they're on their way, going too fast, breaking all the speed limits as they slide around the narrow corners of the back streets. Nick holds on tight and plasters himself against Alec's back – falling off a bike at one-hundred-something miles per hour won't kill him, but it'll hurt like a bitch.

Something hard and unyielding digs into his stomach, barely cushioned by the thin shirt he's wearing, not quite painful but persistently uncomfortable. Distracted by the urgency and the speed and the sheer excitement of feeling Alec's body against his for the first time, Nick doesn't immediately figure out what it is – and when he finally does, he's so aghast that he almost drops his grip. 

Of course Alec is wearing his stake in his waistband under his jacket. 

Nick tries his best to ignore it, the same way he's been trying to ignore who Alec is for too long now. You don't live as long as he does without getting really good at denial. Even if, he suspects, this isn't the kind of thing where being in denial contributes to a long life.

And yet, it's scarily easy to distract himself. 

The city in the early hours of morning, before it properly wakes up, has its own kind of beauty. Not the overwhelming buzz of day, nor the raunchy vibrancy it pulsates with during nighttime. It's a little sleepy and a little lonely, quiet like it's holding its breath. The calm before the storm.

Alec, too, is a distraction – and a welcoming one at that. 

Nick can feel Alec's muscles shift as he steers the bike, feel them against his front and under his hands where he's holding on to Alec, arms looped around Alec's torso. Hypersensitive as Nick's senses are, he can smell Alec even through the closed visor of the helmet: spicy aftershave and clean soap and, from underneath his skin, the faint note of sweet, pulsating blood. He wants to bury his nose into Alec's neck and breathe in deep. Wants to taste him. Lap at his skin and sink his teeth into his artery. 

All he can do, though, is clench his arms around Alec and tighten his fists in his jacket.

The drive is over too soon, even though the feeble gleam of orange at the horizon warns Alec that he can't afford to loiter.

With some reluctance, he pulls away, stepping off the bike and handing Alec his helmet back. "Thank you for the ride."

"Anytime," Alec says, and it sounds like a promise. 

He's taken off his helmet, too. In the twilight glow, the blue of his eyes is luminous, almost electric, and the way he's looking at Nick roots him to the spot. 

The gaze is too intent, swimming with the same want that's making Nick's stomach coil in knots every time he looks at Alec. To see it reflected back at him is— It's too much, and Nick's only got so much self-control.

He crosses the distance towards Alec with hurried steps, quelling the cautioning voice in the back of his head warning him that this is a terrible idea, and he bends his head to press their lips together. It starts as a tentative kiss, Nick's mouth brushing against Alec's gently, hesitantly almost, his nerves wound tight enough to fray. Alec is holding still, but Nick can hear his heartbeat accelerating, can feel his breath fanning against his skin, fast and hot in the cool morning air, fogging up the space between their faces. 

The wind and the cold have brought a faint blush to Alec's cheeks. When Nick reaches out to brush against the hint of pink, his hand is shaking. He wonders if Alec will be able to feel the tremor in his touch, if he can tell how much Alec undoes him with barely any effort at all.

And then Alec abruptly stands, pushing himself off his bike so forcefully that the heavy machine wobbles beneath him. His hands are cold when they curve around the back of Nick's neck and tangle in the unruly curls. When did he pull off his gloves? Nick doesn't have time to worry about how Alec constantly evades his observational skills, because all his attention is soaked up by the urgency with which Alec is pulling him into another kiss.

This one is different from the first one, Alec no longer a passive recipient, his mouth hard and hungry on Nick's. His fingers dig into Nick's scalp as he pulls Nick harshly against him, deepening the kiss until all Nick can taste is Alec, all he can smell is the intoxicating scent of Alec's blood pumping through his veins, all he can feel is the hard planes of Alec's body flush against him. 

Breathing is more of a long-cultivated habit than necessity for Nick, which comes in handy right now because Alec literally steals his breath away. Without the need to come up for air, Nick could keep kissing Alec for hours. His hands clutch the lapels of Alec's jacket and his eyes close as he gets lost in the kiss and the heat and the warm buzz of desire burning under his skin.

The sound of someone clearing their throat behind Nick brings him back to the here and now. Alec pulls back, and Nick reluctantly stops himself from following and seeking his mouth out again.

"Nick."

The voice calling his name is distinctly not Alec's, nor does it sound happy. His head snaps around to where Valentina is standing under the entrance of their apartment building, stony-faced and white as a sheet in the orange light of dawn.

Dawn.

Fuck. How could he forget the time like that?

"Valentina—" he begins, at the same time as she says, "Have you forgotten that you've got somewhere to be?"

Her voice has a shrill edge, and he knows she's not going to let him hear the end of this once they're alone. 

"Sorry," he says, one apology for both of them. "Alec, that's Val, my roommate. And she has a point. I've really got to get going."

Now that he's in full possession of his mental faculties again – or as much as he ever is, anyway; he's sure Val would argue that it's not much – he can feel the approaching daybreak prickle threateningly against his skin. He won't have long now. A few more minutes, and things are going to get _heated_ in an unpleasant kind of way.

"It's fine. Sorry for keeping you." Alec smiles that small, private smile of his that Nick's starting to cherish. "Go. I'll see you later."

He puts on his helmet again. Despite himself, Nick stands on the spot, watching Alec even as he begins to feel uncomfortably hot along the exposed skin of his face and neck. He startles when Valentina grabs his arm, her small, slim fingers barely fitting around his wrist, but pulling him inside with surprising strength.

He lets her drag him off to the sound of Alec's bike roaring into life.

#

"I think your roommate doesn't like me."

Alec's leaning in conspiratorially across the table, as if he's sharing a secret. 

Nick laughs and raises his mug to his lips, the flavors of his latte filling his mouth. He's pretty sure that Valentina's disapproval the other morning could have been picked up all the way from space. "She's just very protective. I've been known to make poor choices."

"Poor boyfriend choices?" Alec's eyebrow goes up. There's no hint of judgment on his face, just mild curiosity, though Nick reckons it would be a different story if he told him why exactly Alec classifies as a bad choice. 

He shrugs. "Poor everything choices."

It's a fairly generous description for standing outside his house kissing a hunter while the sun was going up. 

Valentina had yelled at him for ten minutes straight once they were in the safe darkness of their apartment, angry that he'd never told her that Alec had come back after the night he'd dropped the stake, furious that Nick had been foolish enough to let him know where they lived. Then she'd hugged him fiercely and told him he was an idiot and warned him that they'd talk again later. 

So Nick had done what any fearless creature of the night would do when faced with their petite five-foot-one human roommate looking at them with an 'I'm not angry, just disappointed' expression: As soon as the sun had gone down, he quietly snuck out to work to avoid a confrontation while she was in the bathroom taking a shower.

"'Poor everything choices', huh? Sounds familiar," Alec says, wry humor curling around the words. 

Before Nick can ask him what he means, the door opens and another customer shuffles in. "Sorry, I gotta take this."

He gives Alec an apologetic look and stands, walking behind the counter and addressing the new arrival. It's a kid, maybe seventeen or eighteen, definitely out past his bedtime. "Hey, welcome to _Dark Roast_. What can I get you?"

The kid looks up at him, bloodshot eyes flitting to Alec and back again. The strong whiff of something chemical clings to his blood, stinging Nick's nose, and all at once he knows with a dark sense of foreboding that things are about to get ugly.

"Maybe you—" he starts, not sure what to say to ease the situation before it can escalate, but it's pointless anyway. He doesn't get any further before the kid's pulling a gun on him, waving it back and forth between him and Alec as he tries to keep them both in check with one weapon. 

It would be easy enough for Nick to disarm him – but not if he has to move at human speed.

"Your money, now," the kid hisses. "Come _on_."

"Easy." 

Nick keeps his voice placating and his hands in sight as he slowly motions towards the till. The kid is watching him keenly, the hand holding his gun trembling. He has his back turned to Alec and doesn't see Alec reaching behind himself. Nick opens the till with even motions, a steady string of pointless calming words coming from his mouth, trying not to do anything to set the kid off, while silently wondering what the fuck Alec thinks he's doing.

It's his fault, in the end. He keeps watching Alec out of the corner of his eye, and the kid must have noticed and followed his gaze, because he turns around and sees the stake in Alec's hand. His eyes go wide, and the outstretched arm with the gun swings around towards Alec.

Everything seems to be happening in slow motion and too fast at once, as if Nick's at the center of a hurricane, watching the world become uprooted. 

The kid is yelling at Alec, and Alec's too damn stubborn for his own good, pushing himself across the table like some kind of action hero, stake in hand, as if no one ever fucking told him that bringing a stake to a gunfight is a terrible idea.

A shot goes off. 

Alec goes down, howling in pain. 

The sharp, acrid smell of gunfire fills the air, and underneath, strong and pushing to the surface, the luscious bouquet of fresh blood.

The kid's standing over Alec's body, gun pointed at him, and Nick can hear both their heartbeats, one faster than the other, like they're racing against each other.

It's part instinct, part desperate split-second decision that make Nick interfere, the familiar tension as his face changes, fangs dropping, pupils expanding. The kid twists back around towards him just as Nick jumps across the counter.

The kid’s eyes go wide, mouth dropping open in shock. "Oh fuck, what— The fuck's wrong with you, man?"

The gun clatters to the floor as Nick stalks towards him.

He knows how frightening he looks. His eyes are pitch black, no trace of white left, and his fangs are protruding from his lips with lethal sharpness. Contrary to popular myth, vampires are in fact able to look at themselves in the mirror, and the first time Nick did, he almost made himself scream in horror.

Everyone reacts like that the first time they see a vampire. The kid is no exception. He cries out and scrambles off, running through the door like the devil himself was after him. 

Nick stares after him and briefly considers giving chase, ancient instincts inside him screaming for him to hunt down his prey, but the fiery rage he felt when he saw the kid pointing the gun at Alec has already died down, and there are more pressing matters than a teenage gunman whose nightmares will be haunted for months by fanged monsters.

He can hear Alec's pulse echoing through the room, quick and erratic.

No hope that he's unconscious or hasn't witnessed the little display that sent the would-be robber running.

 _Bad choices_ , indeed.

Nick steels himself for Alec's reaction when he turns towards him. Alec's staring at up, eyes intent, face unreadable. The bullet has hit his thigh, blood soaking through his jeans and pooling around under his leg. 

"You _really_ need to stop bleeding around me, man," Nick says, aiming for a wry tone and missing by miles. 

His voice sounds strained and hoarse. Everything inside of him is wound too tight. He stretches his neck, craning his head backwards and baring his teeth before taking a steadying breath, concentrating until he feels his fangs retreat and his pupils return to their normal human shape.

Alec tracks every single motion with narrowed eyes. He grabs the stake, holding it protectively in front of him, the pointy tip angled up towards Nick.

With his injury, Nick estimates the chances that Alec'll jump up and manage to successfully attack him at about twenty percent maybe, but humans can develop a surprising, almost impossible strength given the right combination of adrenaline, determination and a misplaced sense of justice, so Nick gathers it might be safer to keep his distance. 

He raises his hands in what he hopes is recognized as the universal 'I come in peace' gesture.

"You're shot," he says.

A brief, harsh laugh tears from Alec's throat, as if someone had grabbed the sound with a fist, wrung it from his vocal cords and torn it out of him. "No shit."

He's still staring at Nick, like he's struggling to come to terms with what he's seen. Nick forces himself not to avert his eyes. No one wishes more than him that he could take the memory away from Alec, that he could turn back the clocks and rewind the last ten minutes, make himself lock up before the kid came in, give Alec a signal not to go for the stake, not draw the kid's attention before he attacked him. Anything.

But none of that is in his power.

Alec has seen what he's seen, he knows what Nick is now, and there's no way around that.

Behind them, the door opens again, and Nick's tense back stiffens further. For a second, he thinks the kid's stupid enough to come back for his gun. But it's just Dr. Carol, on schedule for her mid-nightshift frappé. She takes in the scene in front of her with the calm air of someone who's seen it all before and will take no shit.

"I'll be damned, Nick. What the hell's been going down here? This sure doesn't look like strawberry sauce you spilled all over the floor."

#

It's fine, after all.

As fine as things can be, given that Nick's just vamped out in front of a hunter and ruined, in a single moment, the most promising romantic relationship he's had in a decade or so.

But all the rest of the mess gets dealt with by Carol, her composed efficiency cutting through the bullshit in a way that doesn't leave Nick with enough time to panic. 

She resolutely overrides Alec's objections that he doesn't need to have his wound checked at the hospital. She makes the call to the police and deals with the EMTs. She stands at Nick's side when he gives a statement to the cops, cutting it short with the authority of a seasoned E.R. doctor when Nick's getting antsy because it's getting late again.

He takes a cab, because he's too tired and too burned out to brave the subway tonight, and all he wants is to go home and hide out in the dark until the world has spun enough times that tonight's debacle will feel like nothing but an inconsequential little blip in history. It might only take a century or two, if he's lucky.

Instead, he lets Valentina hold him and quietly cries into her shirt as he tells her what happened.

He breathes in deep, smelling laundry detergent and the familiar, comforting scent of Val's blood, and he tries to let it drown out the sting of gunshot residue that's clinging to his nostrils. Just as he tries to forget the way Alec looked at him before they carted him off to fix his leg, the icy blue of his eyes burning with accusation and fury.

#

Darnelle calls him in the morning and gives him the rest of the week off. Nick protests, but she's insistent, and when Darnelle has made up her mind about something, there's no way of arguing her out of it. And there's a part of Nick that can't help feeling relieved, even as he knows that steering clear of the shop for a few days isn't going to fix things.

He wonders who's covering his shift, and if Alec's been stepping by _Dark Roast_ to look for him, but he can't bring himself to ask Darnelle.

He's not sure what he'd do with the answer – or, indeed, which answer he's more afraid to hear.

#

On the Friday after the botched mugging, he wakes up almost violently, like he was ripped out of a nightmare. He sits up straight, gasping for air he doesn't need, panic clawing up his chest.

Then he realizes he's not alone.

In the corner of Nick's pitch-dark basement bedroom, Alec has settled down on a chair, watching him from across the room, his right hand curled loosely around the stake in his lap. As if he was only waiting for Nick to notice him, Alec reaches up behind himself with his other hand and flips the light switch. 

Blinding brightness floods the room, and Nick instinctively squeezes his eyes shut to protect them from the glare. He bites his lip and swallows the protest. The discomfort, he's certain, was the point.

He blinks a few times in an attempt to adjust to the sting of the light. He catches Alec's gaze accidentally, and the flatness of the look directed back at him chills him.

"'Night shifts pay better', huh?" Alec spits. "You sure had me fooled."

"Well, they do pay better." Nick sighs, before he remembers something. If Alec's here—"Where's Val?"

Alec inclines his head, appraising Nick, like he senses that Nick's sudden panicking and can't make sense of it. "At work, I assume. It's two in the afternoon."

There's no inflection at all in his voice. No trace of humor. No anger, either, but Nick's not naive enough to take it as a good sign. At least Valentina's safe. He doesn't think Alec's the type who'd go after a human, whether they're sheltering a vampire or not, but knowing Valentina, she'd put herself between Nick and the stake if it came to it. For her sake, Nick's glad that Alec chose a time when she was out.

"Well, I guess that explains why I feel like I got run over by a train."

"Oh, I'm sorry, Nick, did I interrupt your beauty sleep?" The frosty taunt holds no sympathy, but at the same time, Alec's eyes flicker down towards Nick's naked chest. Nick almost believes he can see a flash of appreciation in his gaze. Longing, perhaps, if he's being very optimistic.

It's the way Alec's fingers are tightening around the smooth wood of the stake that stifles that cautious seed of optimism before it has a chance to take root.

He's not going to leave this room alive, he thinks. 

Even if Alec still wants him, that only dooms Nick further. Because in Alec's mind, Nick's the demonic creature who has manipulated him and led him into temptation. There won't be forgiveness for that, even if Alec could theoretically get past the idea that all vampires are evil and need to be put down – and that's a big if.

"You're the vampire who's been taking the blood bags from the hospital," Alec says, pulling him from his bleak thoughts.

Nick frowns as some of the puzzle pieces fall into place. "That's what made you look into the area," he realizes. Val had been right, after all. Alec _had_ been after him, back when they first met. He just hadn't known yet that it was Nick he was hunting.

"A new intern got suspicious. Friend of a friend. So I came here, had a look around. Got a little sidetracked by the bloodsucker who made a mess of my neck that night." He pulls a face. "Doctors kept stonewalling me, anyway. I wasn't sure if it was really nothing or if they were covering for someone. They really must like you."

He sounds surprised, even after all the times he's seen Nick interact with the doctors and nurses who came to _Dark Roast_ when Alec was around.

"Yeah, well, I'm a likable guy," Nick shoots back, a little sharper than he should probably be around a man who's holding a stake and knows how to use it, but he's feeling tired and discouraged, and he wishes Alec would get on with it already instead of playing catch-up like there's anything at the end of this conversation other than a pointy piece of wood.

Even though he doesn't feel the cold, he shivers. He reaches for the covers to pull them up his chest, burrowing into them as if they could offer any kind of protection.

"Why?" Alec asks, and for a moment Nick thinks he's asking why he's covering himself, before he realizes that it's meant to be a much more far-reaching question. Alec's jaw is working, like he's crushing the word on his teeth, tasting it and finding it unpleasant.

Nick levels a disbelieving look at him. "You're not _seriously_ asking me why I didn't tell you?"

"No, I get that. It's all the rest I can't make sense of. Why help fix me up? Why make me come back? Why protect me from that kid with the gun and reveal yourself? I've been lying awake every night those past few days, thinking you must have been playing me, but however I look at it, it doesn't make _sense_." Frustration colors his voice. He leans forward in his chair, fingers white-knuckled around the stake.

It doesn't make sense because it didn't happen like that. If Nick had played him, this isn't— If Nick _had_ played him, he'd have seduced Alec and then drained him dry when he was naked and defenseless, and Alec would never have known Nick was a vampire before it was too late. But, from Alec's perspective, it probably doesn't explain why Nick kept flirting with him and hanging out with him and making him coffee and kissing him outside of his front door when he knew Alec was a hunter.

It doesn't make sense, because Nick's an idiot who went and fell in love instead of listening to reason or his survival instincts or his roommate. 

"I was going to stay away from you when I saw that stake and realized what you were," he admits.

"Then why didn't you?"

Nick smiles faintly. "Maybe you're a likable guy, too."

The quip earns him a snort. "No, I'm not. I'm an asshole who keeps everyone at arm's length."

"You didn't keep me at arm's length."

He knows it's the wrong thing to say as soon as the words have left his mouth. It sounds like he's rubbing it in that he managed to push through Alec's defenses, that he got close, got under his skin, made him like him. Like he's taunting Alec with it, when nothing could be further from the truth.

"Not for the lack of trying," Alec says, and the bitterness swinging in the words make Nick flinch.

"I'm sorry." 

Under Alec's measuring look, he wants to hide. He knew he was making a mess of things, playing with fire, but he'd been so caught up in the risks he was recklessly willing to take that he hadn't considered the kind of manipulation that came along with his necessary self-protection and secrecy.

"Are you?" Alec challenges. He stands up, towering over Nick, the bright cool light from the ceiling drawing harsh shadows on his face.

The motion brings the stake to Nick's eye level, but he can't pull his gaze away from Alec's face.

Is he sorry? 

Yes and no. He's sorry they didn't meet under different, better circumstances, ones that didn't make them natural enemies. He's sorry he didn't get more time with Alec. He's sorry that things turned out the way they did.

"I'm sorry I've made you think I played you. I don't regret the rest of it, no. I'd do it all again." He smiles, a little wistful and a little teasing and a little sad. "Except maybe I'd invite you in, the morning you drove me home. I'm sorry we only had that one kiss."

Alec exhales sharply. His face is inscrutable as ever as he steps up to the bed.

When Alec bends down towards him, Nick holds himself so perfectly, inhumanly still that even his breathing halts, like he's frozen in stone. Alec's the unstoppable force clashing against an immovable object. His mouth is hard against Nick's, the kiss full of pent-up frustration and anger and bitterness. 

Nick instinctively opens up under him, pliant, yielding against Alec. He tries to gentle the kiss, but he can feel the sharp tip of Alec's stake against his chest, right over his heart, and the soft press of his lips turns into desperation. 

If these are his last moments, he wants to make them count. He squeezes his eyes shut and kisses back with all the sorrow and the longing that he's keeping bottled up inside for too long now. It's the familiar dichotomy of pain and elation he's felt around Alec ever since he found out who he was, multiplied by a hundredfold. 

His head is craned up at an awkward angle that strains his neck, and Alec's stubble rasps against the sensitive skin around his lips, and the stake is digging harshly into his flesh, a chilling memento mori that makes it impossible for Nick to lose himself completely in the moment.

Eventually, the punishing fury of Alec's kiss eases. A broken little whimper tears from Nick's throat when he feels Alec pulling away.

"Goodbye, Nick." The quiet words are spoken right against Nick's lips, and Nick waits for the pain.

It never comes. 

The pressure from the stake eases, and then it's gone. 

Nick's eyes feel like they're glued shut, lids sticky and heavy. It costs him a superhuman effort to pry them open. When he manages to succeed, he's alone in the room, Alec's footsteps creaking on the staircase, the shimmer of sunlight falling through the crack in the door warning Nick not to follow.

#

Life does what it does best: it goes on.

Nick goes back to _Dark Roast_ on Monday night, a week after the night when everything went to shit. He finds himself staring at the spot on the floor where the blood used to be and at the table where he and Alec used to sit and, against all expectations, his heart doesn't actually break apart inside of him and cut him open with its broken, jagged pieces. It only feels as if it does.

He forces a smile for the first customer and for the next one and the one after, and it goes a little easier every time, every day, even if every time the door opens and someone else who isn't Alec steps inside, Nick flinches and looks up with equal parts fear and hope pulling his chest apart from the inside.

"Are you really sure you want to stay?" Val had asked him. When she'd come home the evening after Alec had left and found Nick curled in a ball on his bed, she'd coaxed the whole story out of him with gentle force.

He wasn't sure if she meant staying at _Dark Roast_ or staying in the city, but it doesn't matter. The answer's still the same. 

He loves it here. He loves this life, this place, the people. The rich smell of freshly roasted coffee in the air. Dr. Carol's dry jokes when she grabs her Frappuccino. The cheerful greeting he receives when he walks into the blood bank at the hospital and trades two bags of O negative for a Venti Chocolate Latte. The way his colleagues and customers indulge his sad attempts at latte art, lopsided snowflakes and bear faces that always look a little like comic book monsters.

He loves the memories he's made – even the bittersweet, painful ones that left scars that ache and sting when Nick pulls at them. He'd do it all again, every time.

"I'm sure," he'd told Val, and he meant it.

_Epilogue_

The nights are growing longer again and so do Nick's shifts as fall turns the leaves orange. 

It's been a humid, hot summer – short, busy nights at the coffee shop that brought in a string of rude tourists and seemingly endless days of being stuck in the basement with only his head for company – and Nick's glad to see the end of it. 

October feels a little softer, a little kinder, and the prospect of the approaching winter makes Nick perk up. When the temperatures drop, people tend to sit down for a little while and allow themselves to linger while they nurse a hot drink and get warmed up.

It's the week before Halloween, the busiest part of the night already over. Nick's wiping down the tables with his back turned to the entrance, brushing off cookie crumbs and rumpled paper tissues when he hears the door open and close again.

"I'll be with you in a moment," he calls out, pulling a face when he realizes that someone stuck chewing gum to the table-top.

Behind him, the floorboards make soft noises as the customer steps further into the shop.

"You got a coffee?" 

Nick freezes. 

His hand stills on the spot, fingers reflexively clenching in the damp cleaning cloth. The words are familiar, and so is the voice. It's the same voice he hasn't been able to get out of his head all summer. 

Nick doesn't quite dare to hope. Perhaps he's just imagining things. He's been thinking about this so often, dreading it and daydreaming about it – perhaps it's just his mind playing tricks on him. 

"You're in luck. It's our specialty. Five star Yelp rating and all." He tries to keep his tone cool and even, but his voice breaks a little, ruining the wisecrack.

Cautiously, like he's afraid of what he's about to face, he straightens and turns around.

Alec looks... the same. The same angular face, the same piercing blue eyes, the same faded old green army jacket, the same barely-there twitch of his lips. The déjà vu hits Nick with a sense of vertigo, like someone's pulled the floor out from under him and he's free-falling.

"You," he hears himself say, as if from far away. He sounds breathless, disbelieving. 

"Me," Alec confirms. 

He doesn't move when Nick crosses the floor towards where he's standing, doesn't back away nor meet Nick halfway. It's the longest eight steps Nick's taken in his life. 

And then he's right in front of Alec, and he doesn't know what to do, stuck by indecision. 

The last time they saw each other, Alec held a stake to his heart and kissed him like there was no tomorrow. And now, too many tomorrows later, Alec stands less than an arm's length away, within easy reach in too many ways, and Nick can't make up his mind whether to punch him or kiss him or hug him or ask him to leave.

His hands have balled into fists and he forces himself to unclench them, slowly raising them up. He can see the minuscule flinch rippling across Alec's face, but Alec holds his ground, and before Nick can stop himself, he's gripping Alec tightly by his upper arms. The desperate need to _hold on_ makes his fingers dig in so firmly that he's sure even through the rough material of his jacket, Alec will end up with bruises tomorrow. But he's unable to make himself let go and Alec makes no move to shake him off.

Nick leans his head in and rests his forehead against Alec's. Warmth spreads against his unnaturally cool skin, and the rhythm of Alec's heartbeat echoes through Nick's body like shockwaves.

Alec draws a shuddering breath and then, at last, Nick feels him relaxing against him, tension bleeding out of him and his breath fanning soft and warm across Nick's face.

They stand like that for long minutes that feel like tiny eternities. 

Nick's the one who breaks away, feeling calmer, like some of the weight he'd been shouldering lately has been taken away. He clears his throat and makes himself loose his hold on Alec, putting some distance between them as he walks around the counter.

"So. Coffee. How about a Pumpkin Vanilla Latte? It's our seasonal highlight." Still a little embarrassed over the emotional display just now, he's mostly joking, already reaching for a mug to pour a drip coffee instead.

Alec's eyebrows go up. Then he heaves a sigh that sounds half-resigned, half-fond. "Sure. Why not?"

Nick's head snaps up, and he sets down the pot. 

"Really?" he asks, skeptically. It's not like he never fed Alec flavored latte before, but he never got the impression that Alec actually enjoyed any of them – and Alec certainly never ordered them voluntarily.

The stare he fixes Nick with is penetrating. "I guess I might as well try something else. Turn a new leaf, if you will," he says. Then, wryly, "I'll try to keep an open mind."

Perhaps Nick is being overly optimistic and presumptuous, but between the intent in Alec's eyes and the blatant self-mockery in the words, he suspects that Alec isn't just referring to his choice in caffeinated beverages. 

He smiles at Alec across the counter, unable to tamp down the hope that's bubbling up inside of him, nor the overwhelming fondness and warmth he's never been able to shake whenever he looks at Alec.

"I like the sound of that," he says softly, as he froths up the milk.

When Alec takes the mug from his hands, a huff of laughter rips out of him, his face pulling into a wide grin. Nick has drawn a laughing face into the froth, with triangle fangs peeking out of its open mouth. 

It's probably the world's crudest, ugliest latte art vampire. But perhaps also the happiest.

End.


End file.
